Date: Sat, 14 Sep 2013 17:46:38 -0500
From: Marshall Fitzpatrick
Subject: Coach Nails a Chub
NOTE: This story occurs in the same universe as my previous story "My Alpha
Football God", which was published in the Nifty Archive on September 3,
2013, in the gay/athletics, gay/authoritarian, and gay/highschool
categories. This story features several of the same characters and revisits
some of that story's plot points, though it is not necessarily a sequel.
DISCLAIMER: This story is entirely fictional. All characters, settings, and
situations are products of the author's imagination. Happy readings!
~~~~~
MY CALVES BURNED, and I wanted to die. For the last two weeks, I felt like
Coach had a personal vendetta against me. I hadn't been all that
self-conscious about my weight until I had to start running extra laps.
Coach said it would be good for me since I was so overweight. After that, I
couldn't help but imagine that the rest of the guys in gym class stared at
me when I had to run extra, noticing every time my sweaty thighs slapped
together and made that awful slurping sound, how out of breath I was
whenever I pathetically wheezed by them, and-this is the worst-the way my
moobs bounced up and down freely under my t-shirt when I jogged. Every day
I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable wisecrack about me needing a
bra. The source of this embarrassment, this daily anguish, was Coach.
I had completely slipped under Coach's radar as a freshman, being dismissed
with the other nerds and fat kids as a waste of his time when he could be
focusing on his top priority, the football boys. His fixation of me started
one day after school during sophomore year. I had forgotten my bag in the
gym, and after marching band practice, I ducked in to nab it before I went
home. What I had not expected to hear were the showers running since the
football team wasn't practicing that day. Curiosity got the better of me,
and what did I find when I went down the stairs but the sight of Coach in
all his naked glory, jets of water streaming down the hairy, beefy hunk of
a man that he had become in his early middle age. I was transfixed,
particularly, by the fat slab of meat dangling between his legs, hanging
there ripe for the picking.
"Jesus, Miles, what are you doing here?" he asked upon noticing me, turning
off the water and scratching his furry ass. "Don't you have better things
to do than creep on your gym coach?"
I stood there, embarrassed and no doubt blushing. "It's not what it looks
like. I had to get my bag and thought maybe the shower just needed to be
turned off," I muttered, trying to assemble my scattered thoughts into some
semblance of cohesion.
"Well that's alright, I guess," he said, grabbing a towel. He hiked his leg
up onto a bench and started drying off, his massive cock flopping around
with each casual jostle from the towel. I couldn't help but stare.
"You know, Miles, I actually had you on my mind earlier today," he added,
apparently not noticing my blatant staring.
"What?" I asked, suddenly nervous.
"You need to get in shape. You're so fucking fat you can't even run a lap
around the gym without wheezing. It's just not healthy."
I stared at him, stunned.
"I'm not trying to be mean or anything. I think kids like you just need to
hear it like it is. Besides, I figure you can handle it," he said, not
breaking eye contact, a mischievous and sadistic smile forming on his
lips. "Besides," he continued, "I think I might have a use for you after
all."
With that he gave his low hanging cock one final scratch and pulled on his
gym shorts and t- shirt. "Now get the hell out of here before I have to
tell the principal you're a fucking perv who hangs around the showers."
"WHAT THE HELL do you think he meant by 'I might have a use for you after
all'"? I asked my friend Nick, my head still spinning from my encounter
with Coach in the shower.
"Who knows? Probably nothing," Nick replied, clearly distracted. He had
been on double- homework duty all month. I don't know what happened, but he
had been doing Dylan Brandt's homework for the last few weeks, and he
wouldn't tell me why. He said it was too embarrassing. I was sympathetic at
first, but lately it was getting annoying. Nick had been acting weird ever
since right before this whole double-homework thing started. First I didn't
see him for nearly a week after we played in the band at a football game
one Friday night, and when I finally did, he avoided me. Maybe he was
finally sorting through what happened that summer.
It was the marching band's unofficial end-of-summer soiree, without the
presence of the band director, parents, or any other adult supervision. It
was basically just a bunch of teenagers getting high, drinking, fooling
around, and doing stupid shit. I had never drunk before, and I don't think
Nick had either because after three or four rancid beers each, we both
started getting a little handsy and finally wandered off to a deserted
room. We drunkenly made out for a while, giggling idiotically, before Nick
lifted off my shirt, his hands roaming across my chubby body. We rolled
around the floor a bit, my tongue wrestling his as we reveled in our
carefree, intoxicated states. Eventually he was on his back with his hands
behind his head, and I was unzipping his pants. I tried to keep him going,
but he kept losing his erection, no matter how hard I sucked. After a
while, he swatted me away in defeat and pulled up his pants, curling up in
a ball. I left the room, confused and irritated, my mind still foggy.
In the next few weeks Nick and I never spoke about that night, and after
the school year started, normalcy resumed when we saw our friend Jeff again
in marching band. We became our former trio of geeky misfits, all signs of
the weird, unspoken sexual tension between me and Nick gone-or at least
that's what I assumed.
SHIT GOT WEIRD, in the best and worst possible ways, two weeks after I saw
Coach in the shower. As my class finished our usual warm-up of three laps
around the gym (naturally, I was the last to finish), Coach yelled to me
from across the room: "You keep going, Miles. I want to see you burn some
calories." This shocked the hell out of me, and I wished I could have
disappeared because half the guys in the class burst out laughing at
that. I tried to keep my head up, but I was so embarrassed. While they got
to shoot hoops and fuck around, I was stuck heaving my weight around the
gym as quickly as I could. After about ten minutes of nonstop jogging, the
240 pounds I was carrying around caught up to me, and I felt like
collapsing. My already slow jog became an even more pathetic waddle as I
pushed my legs to carry me just one more lap. Finally, with my fat calves
feeling like they were on fire, I had to stop and take a hit on my asthma
inhaler. Coach approached me from across the room.
"You did good, Miles," he said, slapping me hard on the back. "Personally,
I didn't think you had it in you."
I was pleasantly surprised at the compliment. "Thanks, Coach," I muttered
between wheezes.
"This is only the beginning," he said, flashing that sadistic grin I
recognized from the shower. "Why don't you come cool off in my office for
a few minutes? You can sit in the air conditioning and enjoy a drink of
water."
I was so thrilled at the prospect of sitting in a comfy leather chair in a
cool room that I did not suspect that Coach might have an ulterior
motive. I grabbed a paper cup and filled up from Coach's cooler, slinking
down into the chair and enjoying the feeling of the cool water hitting my
throat.
Coach walked in a moment later and locked the door behind him, taking a
seat across from me and propping his feet up on his desk.
"What are you doing after school today, Miles?" he asked me, putting his
hands behind his head and leaning back.
I thought about it for a moment. "Nothing," I muttered, caught off guard by
the question.
"Well, you do now," he said, standing, giving his crotch a scratch through
his thin athletic shorts. "There's something I need help with, and I think
you're just the guy to help me out." He stared at me hard with intense,
seductive eyes. "You'll be here, won't you?"
I nodded my head.
"Was that a yes?"
"Yes," I muttered.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good boy." He opened the door. "Now get back to class."
I WAS UNABLE to focus for the last half of gym class. I completely missed a
pass in basketball and nearly got run down by some meathead jocks running
suicides. I couldn't get my mind off Coach and whatever it was that he
needed my help with after school.
After what seemed like hours, the dismissal bell rang, and while the rest
of the guys flooded out of the gym, I hung around, slowly packing things
away in my bag to drag out the process. Once the coast was clear, Coach
popped his head into the gym and gestured for me to come into his office.
"I guess you didn't have anything better to do this afternoon, did you?" he
asked. Before giving me a chance to respond, he added, "Well, you made the
right choice, boy."
He closed his office door but didn't bother locking it this time. "I know
your type, boy," he said, pulling off the lanyard that held his
whistle. "You think nobody knows what goes through that head of yours, but
I can tell. I've seen you staring at me since the semester started. I
didn't think much of it. Lots of fag boys like you have come and gone
through this gym."
I tried to interject, but he raised his hand. "Don't try to explain your
way out of this. It won't work. Now, I was just going to leave you be and
let you do whatever it is that you do to yourself when you let your
imagination run wild. But then I caught you ogling me in the shower, and
well-I just don't think I can let that one slide, not without having a
little fun of mine own." At that, he peeled off his t-shirt and tossed it
in the corner, his hairy, barrel chest now on full display.
He must have noticed the look of unbridled lust on my face when he did
because then he added, "Brandt was right. You are a fag."
What I found out later was that Dylan Brandt, one of Coach's meathead
football superstars, had figured out what I suspected-that my friend Nick
was gay. Not only had Nick been too embarrassed to tell me that Dylan had
made him his personal slave, using him as a cum dump and blackmailing him
into doing his homework, but he also had failed to mention that he had
cracked under pressure when Dylan asked him for the names of some of his
other fag friends, and, in a moment of panic, Nick gave him mine. After the
entire team gangbanged him that Friday night after the football game, team
morale shot through the roof, and Coach figured something must be up. It
wasn't long before Dylan told Coach how awesome it had been to have his own
fag slave to do whatever he wanted and use whenever he wanted.
I would come to find out all of this later from Nick, at the same time I
would find out that Dylan had told Coach that Nick told him that I was a
fag, too. Apparently catching me peeping on him in the shower was all the
proof Coach needed that afternoon, which is why at this moment I was
sitting in Coach's office, practically drooling over the sight of his beefy
body and cocky grin.
"Get down on the ground, boy," he said, all levity gone from his voice.
"What?" I asked, beginning to think this might have been a bad idea.
He wasted no time in grabbing me back my hair and pulling me down off the
chair where I had been seated, my chubby body knocking it behind me as I
fell. Coach maintained his grip on my hair as he yanked his shorts down
with his other hand, revealing that fat, familiar bulge in his jock.
"You want a piece of this, don't you, boy?" he asked, pulling my face
forward and rubbing it over his crotch.
I moaned in response, beyond the point of no return, as I started sucking
at the bulge in the front of his jock.
"Not so fast, faggot," he said, pushing my head down to the ground. "First
you're going to take care of my sweaty feet."
I wasn't sure what he meant, so I kissed the top of his tennis shoe, which
caused him to erupt in laughter.
"Jesus. No, I mean take them off." Embarrassed, I untied and removed his
shoes, pushing them away.
"Socks, too," he ordered, "and hand them to me." I peeled off his sticky
socks one by one, pausing to inhale their funky aroma before passing them
up to Coach, who set them on his desk.
"Now get to work," he said, sitting down. "My feet are aching after a long
day, so you better make them feel better."
I stared at them for a moment, wishing I had more direction. I slowly
started massaging one of them with my hands, which elicited a low moan from
Coach, who had his hands behind his back and his eyes closed, clearly
enjoying this. Encouraged, I eventually moved to the other foot and
massaged every inch of it, as well, incredibly turned on to be handling
Coach's big smelly feet. I took a chance and started sucking on one of his
toes.
"Oh, fuck," he muttered, clearly not expecting that but also not displeased
by it. I kept going, devoting sufficient attention to each
foot. Eventually, he stood and grabbed my hair again, pulling me up to eye
level with his meaty cock, which was ready to burst out of his jock strap
at any moment.
"Suck it!" he barked, shoving my face into his bulge. I eagerly sucked at
his crotch through the cotton barrier, slurping as hard as I could,
inhaling Coach's sweaty, manly scent. After a few minutes, he pulled off
his jock strap and stepped out of it, leaving me face to face with his
bulbous monster-eight thick, veiny inches that had me hypnotized.
"Open up, faggot," he said, dragging his fat cock head across my lips and
smearing them with his bitter pre-cum. I opened my mouth on command, at
which point he shoved in the first half in one rapid movement. I started
coughing and choking immediately, my gag reflex triggered by the sudden
intrusion.
"You're going to have to do better than that," Coach growled, burying the
other half in my mouth with a second thrust. I could feel my throat being
stretched out as he invaded it, filling up my windpipes with his girthy
monster.
"Fuuuuuck," he moaned as his pubic hair hit my face. "I haven't had a good,
wet mouth in months. You're just what I've been needing, fag." With that,
Coach began his assault, fucking my face quickly and mercilessly. He seemed
to pay no attention to my muffled groans of discomfort as he raped my
throat. Eventually I started to feel lightheaded.
"What's wrong, faggot? You having trouble breathing?" I nodded in the
affirmative, glad he finally understood. Big mistake. With one hand he
grabbed the back of my head firmly, and with the other he pinched my nose
shut.
"Guess you're going to have to learn to start breathing better with a cock
in your face." He started fucking my mouth even harder, not letting
up. After a minute, when I felt like I was going to pass out, he let off
and pulled out.
His fat cock made a popping noise as he yanked it out of my mouth,
splashing a trail of mucus, saliva, and pre-cum across my face as he did. I
gasped for air and fell forward, coughing and sputtering. Coach tossed me
my inhaler, and I took a hit, glad for the break, which proved only
momentary.
To my amazement, Coach yanked up my entire weight with one hand and tossed
me onto his desk so that I was lying on my front.
"Let's see what we're working with," he said, pulling down my shorts to my
ankles and lifting my shirt off over my head so that I was practically
naked in front of him.
Coach rubbed his big, rough hands across me, playing with my thin layer of
back fat between his fingers as they explored the vast terrain. After a
moment, his hands migrated south, rubbing the chubby globes of my ass in
firm, deliberative circles, gradually parting my cheeks so that he could
see the space between. I heard a slurping sound and looked back to see him
with two of his big, hairy fingers swirling around in his mouth. He flashed
me that sadistic grin and with his other hand gently pushed my head forward
into the desk.
No sooner was my forehead touching the cool metal of his desktop that I
screamed out in pain as those two big fingers invaded my hole.
"I figured you might scream," Coach said, grabbing his sweaty socks and
shoving them into my mouth. "Don't you think about spitting those out,
faggot. If you do, you'll be fucking sorry."
With that, he yanked out his fingers. I heard a squirting noise and then
felt Coach's fat cock head lining up at the entrance to my hole. He slid
his two now lubed-up fingers up there one more time for good measure before
jerking them out and quickly replacing them with the entirety of his cock
in one slow, deliberate thrust.
I could have started crying, it hurt so bad. The feeling of him invading my
body, inch by inch with his massive tool, was both surreal and unbelievably
painful.
"You a virgin?" he asked, his mouth in my ear and his weight pressed up
against me as I got used to the feeling of his cock inside me. I squeaked
out a "yes" in reply.
"Good, because you're never going to forget this," he said as he pushed
down on my back, pulled backwards, and slammed hard into me. "Your fat ass
is all mine now, fag boy."
With that he began pumping into me fast and hard, occasionally slowing down
to roll his fat cock around, spreading me out even wider than I already
was. He eventually fell into a rhythm of slamming into me, jackhammering me
for a few seconds, then pulling back and slamming back into me again. The
longer he went, the more I became accustomed to the pain and started to
really enjoy myself. I felt like a fat slut as I moaned when he hit my
prostate just the right way.
"Yeah, you like that, don't you, fag?" he growled, pleased with himself,
driving into me even harder and faster. After a moment I felt him slip his
hands under my front, feeling my fat rolls jiggle as he fucked me. Finally,
he found what he was looking for and let out a lustful moan as he started
fondling my moobs.
"Fuck, you've got a bigger rack than my ex," Coach said, cupping and
squeezing my tits as he continued to plow me. After a while, I got lost in
the moment, closing my eyes and giving in to the fuck. I could feel myself
getting close to coming without even touching my cock when all of a sudden,
I felt Coach's grip around my midsection tighten before he lifted me off
the ground.
"What are you doing?" I asked, panicking.
Coach didn't answer, instead carrying me around to the other side of his
desk, my ass still impaled on his rock hard cock. He turned me around
slowly while still inside me before dropping me onto the other side of his
desk, onto my back, giving me a good hard thrust when I landed. My legs
were pressed up against his big, solid chest, and he backed up a bit,
pushing my feet over his shoulders so that my fat ass was on full display
for him.
From there, he fucked me even harder and faster than he had before, finding
an optimum angle with me on my back. I could feel all of the fat on my
stomach jiggling as he plowed me, back and forth, up and down, side to
side, my moobs bouncing on my chest.
I finally began to feel him tensing up, and before long I felt Coach
unloading rope after rope into me, filling me up before pulling out in one
quick motion, his cock making a distinct popping noise as it vacated my now
well-worn ass. I gasped as I felt him pull out, leaving me feeling empty
and strange.
"Now that's what I'm talking about," Coach said, slapping my ass so hard
that it stung. He pulled his sweaty socks out of my mouth and used one to
plug up my ass. "Can't have your fat ass leaking all over my desk,
fag. Besides, you wouldn't want to waste any of my spunk, would you?" I
blushed at that.
"I didn't think so," he said, flashing me that cocky grin as he pulled on
his athletic shorts. I stood up and put my own clothes back on, feeling
like a complete whore. Embarrassed, I wanted nothing more than to slip out
of his office silently, go home, and relive this entire experience in my
head as I jacked off.
"Here you go," Coach said, tossing me his jock. "You can use this to get
your rocks off until next time."
"Thank you," I muttered, blushing. With that, I walked out of Coach's
office through the gym, carrying his jock in my hand.
"Looks like your faggot friend was right," I heard a voice say from across
the way. Dylan Brandt flashed me that same knowing grin that Coach did when
he caught me spying on him in the shower. "It looks like the team has two
fags to use now."
I shuddered at the thought, simultaneously excited and terrified. I
wondered what Nick would have to say about this.
~~~~~
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Copyright (c) 2013
All rights reserved by the author. No part of this story may be reproduced,
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